WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY: Franco Battiato, “The Season of Love”

THE SEASON OF LOVE The season of love comes and goes, desires do not age almost never with age. If I think about how I misspent my time, that will not return, will not return. The season of love comes and goes, suddenly without realizing, the live, will surprise you. We have had occasions, losing them; not rimpiangerle not rimpiangerle …

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WHEN THE MUSIC BECOMES POETRY: Franco Battiato, “The Cure”

THE CURE I will protect you from the fears of hypochondria from disturbances that will meet today for your street. Injustices and deceptions of your time, from the failures that your nature will attract. I will relieve you from pain and your mood swings, the obsessions of your delusions. Overcome the gravitational currents, space and light to not grow old. …

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UNDER A SKY HIGH AND WITHOUT CLOUDS: Journey in the Aeolian Islands, Italy

The distance, the distance from everything, this is what you “feel” inside you, coming where – in spring and autumn – they stop herons and red herons, pelicans and flamingos, ducks, cranes and wild geese. Under that sky high and cloudless, seven volcanic islands retain clear waters and prehistoric remains, in a landscape overlooking the sea, covered with Mediterranean vegetation, …

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THAT CONSTRAINT: Renaissance poetry, by Vittoria Colonna

THAT CONSTRAINT That constraint where my happy fate to the will of Heaven tied me, to my great sorrow was dissolved by the cruel death. The suffering was so heavy and hard to bear that suddenly has deleted all my joy and, if it were not for the reason that finally won, I would have made my life short. But …

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ONCE AGAIN: Renaissance poetry, by Isabella Morra

ONCE AGAIN Here again, the valley of hell, alpine river, steep mountains, spirits without any virtue, you will hear my cry and my eternal pain. Each mote I hear, every cave, wherever I stop me, wherever moving steps, because the lot, which is always changing and always increases my eternal evil. And while I lament day and night, wild animals, …

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NOT EXPRESS THE LOVE: Poetry, by William Blake

NOT EXPRESS LOVE Not express love, the real one is always ascoso; It is a breath that moves silent, mysterious. I said, my great love my heart was opened, with fears horrendous, cold ah, trembling, she fled. As it was far from me a traveler lifted it, silent, mysterious: she sighed and conquered. (William Blake)  

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THE GARDEN OF LOVE: Poetry, by William Blake

THE GARDEN OF LOVE In The Garden of Love, one day I went, And I saw a thing never seen before: a chapel erected in the center lawn, where I used to play. It was well bolted gates. “Thou shalt not”, it was written on the threshold; I turned to the Garden of Love me, that many flowers it had …

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ANXIOUSLY STATUES: Poetry, by William Blake

ANXIOUSLY STATUES “Rather choke a child in the cradle, which cradle of unfulfilled desires.” Anxious statues of blood dressed in clothes, and tied for a moment, in the first light of Trafalgar Square, quietly exchanging promises, questions, complaints and cries. Mocking slogans of forbidden love, none of them laments that they would like to be happy, dares to show himself …

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